


Safe

by carmillahey



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, POV Carmilla, but not between hollstein
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-01 09:12:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10185905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmillahey/pseuds/carmillahey
Summary: Before Carmilla grew to know how the world truly worked, losing control was synonymous with being free.Now, it is dangerous.





	1. Exacerbation

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try writing as a form of coping with emotions and this was the result. It might not be accurate in any way due to the fact that I did not contemplate information beforehand. I hope it's not too sad/cringeworthy for yall.
> 
> edit: this may be an ongoing project. I've realized I have more motivation to write when I'm transferring my problems to my favorite characters. Some of this content may be triggering, so please be aware.

Growing up, Carmilla had been conditioned to embody every aspect a proper lady of the 1600's should be: polite, quiet, kind, and emotionless. It was looked down upon for someone of her economic status to convey anything but a neutral face and in the 18 years that she had been alive during her family’s reign, her mother never let her forget it.   
  
"Quiet down, Mircalla! Ladies mustn't shout!"   
  
"Now, now, calm your temper girl. It is unbecoming of a countess to be so unprofessional."   
  
"Hold your tongue! You must obey your father!"   
  
She had let go of her long held familial grudges centuries ago. She knew it was only her mother's duty to raise her in such a manner; it was required for the time period. Sometimes, she caught herself reminiscing of the good times she had with them, rather than their flawed interactions.

In Carmilla's life after death, she was not so wise or quick to learn and had no one to lead her down a “moral” path. With all the strength and resilience that came with being a vampire, came the uncontrollable urge to use it, to abuse those below you, to show your superiority with unrelenting action. Everyone thought of her as less than because she was a woman. Respect was not something given to her, she had to earn it in the most difficult circumstances. She chose to be feared, instead of loved. It never bothered her though. She was consumed by the flames of pure rage, the ripping and tearing flesh, destroying buildings and hearts, devouring everything with the capability of beauty, of love. It was who she had become, in this newly given life. She didn't have a choice. Maman had gifted her with something she couldn't return. When you're in a position similar to Carmilla's in nativity, drunk on the emotion you weren't allowed to feel, it's impossible to live any other way.    
  
She forgave herself, after decades of realizing that the past is so fragile and intangible that it holds no meaning in comparison to the present.   
  
At almost 334 years old, she learned the valuable lesson of discipline; it is the center of all that makes one wise in life, it encompasses all she desperately craved to possess in the early developmental stages of vampirism.    
  
Carmilla does not show others how she truly feels. She is stoic, guarded, thick-skinned after god knows how long adapting to the callous ways of the world. She did it to survive, to cope. 

Before she grew into the person she is currently, losing control was synonymous with being free.

Now, it is dangerous.

She has fallen too far into the pit of despair. There is no coming back from the threshold she stepped over. She allowed herself to feel, to break through to the loss of control, and it is too powerful to be constrained yet again.   
  
She hardly remembers the first punch she threw or why she threw it. The cause of her anger is a distance memory that she had no desire to pick apart and relive. All she cares about is the satisfying dents in her metal filing cabinet, the sting of her skin as it collides with the object in her way, and the picture her blood paints upon its surface with every swift movement. She always had an eye for art, her tutors would tell her. She was not allowed to be anything but a wife, a mother. They shut down her passions with a downpour of cold words. Oh, if they could see her now.   
  
"Carmilla!"   
  
It sounded like her mother, calling from across the manor to scold her. Carmilla began punching even harder, deliberately. She wanted to destroy the cabinet and whatever else her fists came in contact. She could do it. She could ruin everyone and everything she's ever loved. Kindness is difficult to maintain, but rage, rage is primal and easily accessible. All she had to do is let go again, just like she did so long ago. Once she let go, she could stop using her fist and implement something more destructive. Her teeth. Her superspeed. Her immortality. She would be unstoppable.   
  
"Carmilla, stop it! Please!"   
  
_ No, let go. _   
  
Something is attempting to cease her attack but she tired of people deciding what's best for her.    
  
"Please."   
  
The voice has lost its fight, lost its purpose. There is a twitch in the back of her mind, a thought. She's catching back up to her own rationality.    
  
Her punches land weaker with each passing second. She can feel delicate arms, wrapped around her waist. They are firm but not overbearing. She's thankful for this; sometimes the claustrophobia of an embrace is too much. She suddenly feels weak, as if the arms around her have drained the white hot rage, only to stowed it away where it belongs. She doesn't remember why she's angry but it hardly matters anymore. The emotion has diluted into thin air, like a cloud of smoke spreading out in the breeze, leaving her empty. She focuses on the movement of her lungs as they heave, the sweat pooling in various places around her body, and the warm presence behind her.   
  
_ Laura. _   
  
If Carmilla could feel, remorse would be the emotion that plagued her.   
  
"I'm here Carmilla, it's okay, you're safe."   
  
A different kind of warmth replaces the fire she felt before. It is soft and comfortable, calming. She feels calm again.   
  
Carmilla doesn't speak for a while, just lets Laura hold her, keeping her steady. She only wants to exist in this moment without the pressure of obligations and responsibilities.   
  
Eventually, Laura leads her to sit down on the bed closest to them. There, they sit together in the dorm room, leaning against each other heavily in the silence that follows Carmilla's outburst.   
  
Her first thought when regaining consciousness is to wonder if Laura is alright. Carmilla simply scans her without moving from her current position and releases a large sigh when she realizes no harm has been done to anyone but herself and the cabinet. At least this outburst was contained. In those moments, she cannot trust herself to refrain from old habits and ways of thinking.   
  
"Safe?"    
  
It's the word they use to communicate whether Carmilla is ready to engage with her after her nightmares, flashbacks, triggers, or extreme emotional outbursts.   
  
"Safe," Her voice is much more raspy than usual. She must have been yelling along with the onslaught of flying fists.   
  
"What was it this time?" Laura's voice is a soothing whisper as she rubs a hand up and down between Carmilla's tense shoulder blades.   
  
She hesitates. She remembers what set her off and she's regretful to mention it again.   
  
"You know you don't have to-"   
  
"I know," Carmilla says with a sad smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes, no matter how hard she wants to convince Laura she is okay. She is so tired but unwilling to shut Laura out, not this time. “I found a book in my things that I had forgotten about. Inside was an inscription from Maman."   
  
Laura just nods in response, holding Carmilla a little tighter. They don't say much after that. They continue to breath and relax in each other's presence until Laura decides it's time to clean Carmilla's wounds. She wraps her knuckles and punctuates the bandages with a kiss. Slowly, Carmilla regains her sense of self, responding to Laura with little quips or smiles. As the sun sets lower behind the horizon, the two lay in bed, sharing a few words from time to time.

Laura understands Carmilla. Carmilla doesn't understand herself.    
  
They both know today will not be the last time Carmilla struggles with something like this.   
  
But Carmilla knows Laura will always be there for her.   
  
Later, they fall into a peaceful sleep, tangled in each other's arms with the blankets askew towards Laura's side of the bed.    
  
Tomorrow is a new day and there's enough hope in the presence of each other, to assume it will be a good one.


	2. Dissonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to reiterate that I am not a professional. There is no guarantee that this information is correct or relatable to everyone. I wrote this chapter from my own experience
> 
> cw: dissociation

Carmilla stood in front of the mirror, the overhead lights blazing fractals of hot flashes into her eyes. They were too bright and the counter was too reflective and the walls seemed to be shrinking with each passive thought that ran through her head.

She was squeezed into their tiny, single dorm bathroom. They were lucky to have gotten their own. Communal washrooms were part of the long list of (sometimes useless) amenities at Silas and she wasn’t particularly fond of bathing with naked strangers when she had a girlfriend and a working shower.

The dull white of the toilet clashed with the dull white of the walls. The curtains were threadbare and obviously recycled from the last inhabitants. Their rug, meant to catch water from dripping bodies, was matted down. It all hurt to look at.

Laura had made an attempt to spice the place up, hanging an artwork from the college’s gallery in the minimal wall space and putting sea shells next to their soap. It was futile, if anything, but still appreciated.

Speaking of her girlfriend, she should probably leave the bathroom and go reunite with her. They had planned to watch a movie tonight, after several exhausting classes. She was no doubt wondering what was taking her so long but Carmilla couldn’t stop staring at herself, or what was _supposed_ to be her.

She hadn’t cleaned herself up today, lacking the energy.

Her hair was acting as a bird’s nest, tangled and askew from being shoved into a hat. Her clothes were the same as the past two days; a black t-shirt and boxer shorts covered in bats (she didn’t dress like that for school. Her pants were immediately discarded the second she entered the threshold). The shirt was passable as clean, but Carmilla could pick out the darker stains that riddled it. Her boxers weren’t that bad, they just smelled a little funny. 

Her outfit or disheveled appearance wasn’t what bothered her. There was something else that was off. The complexion of her skin, the sunk curve of her cheeks, the way her clothes seemed to drape her frame like a child wearing hand-me-downs.

She honed in on every detail of her being, harsh and scrutinizing.

She looked down at her hands. Her vision suddenly began distorting them. They were too small, drifting farther, then closer again like a gentle wave.

Someone had cut her nerves with a scorching knife. She was separated from herself.

She stared at the mirror once more, gazing into the eyes of a stranger staring back at her.

A feeling, _the_ feeling, washed over her.

It wasn’t new to her, but the terminology was.

When she was entrapped in her own personal hell, a coffin of blood to rot, she often allowed her consciousness to leave her body behind. She traveled high above her head, out into the fields, through cities and mountain ranges while she lay dying 6 feet under ground.

And when she got out during World War ll, the phenomenon didn’t stop. The feeling wasn’t pleasant anymore. It interrupted her daily activities and interactions with people. She didn’t mention it to anyone, chocked it up to the adverse affects of her newfound life. 

It wasn’t until the age of the Internet when she discovered it had a name. Dissociation. Depersonalization. She learned it was a coping mechanism for her body to escape the distress in her mind. Except, she didn’t need to cope. There was nothing wrong.

It took her years to realize that that was naive and a perfect example of denial. Her past was a demon that could not be exorcised. Whether she needed it or not, this feeling happened.

It rang out in her head, washed over her body, demanding it’s presence be acknowledged. Her vision spun and her hands tingled.

She let out a whimper, palms clasped over her ears and eyes shut tight. She needed to block it out. She crouched down on instinct, trying to reset herself and force the dizzying feeling away.

Carmilla could hear the muffled sound of Laura knocking at the door. It opened with a drawn out creak as she peeked her head in from the other side.

“Carm!” Laura cried and she winced.

Her legs gave out under her and she fell back into a sitting position, head resting between her knees. Laura crouched next to her, eyebrows furrow in concern, lingering and ready to help.

“Safe?” she asked.

Carmilla shook her head. She blinked, bleary-eyed and confused, trying to regain focus of the world. The only sensation she could feel was her lungs expanding in short huffs but they didn’t give her enough air.

“I can’t, I can’t-” she began repeating. _I can’t feel my body._

“Breathe, baby,” Laura said. She restrained herself from touching Carmilla. She wanted to physically comfort her but it wasn’t alright yet. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Carmilla mirrored, her heaves becoming few and far between.

Laura sat, waiting. She kept a close watch on her girlfriend to ensure she was breathing steadily and was still conscious 

Carmilla sucked in a huge breath, her muscles finally relaxing and allowing her to take in a proper lung full. She removed her hands from her head, her arms falling limp to the floor. She could see the counter in front of her. She examined the lines of the wood, following their path. Some of them collided, divots becoming one, while others never met.

“Safe,” Carmilla breathed. Laura exhaled in relief, grabbing onto Carmilla’s hand. It was limp in her own grip.

“What happened?” Carmilla’s eyes burned with tears, avoiding Laura’s glossy ones.

“I can't feel,” she rasped out in agony, “I'm not real.”

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are, Carm. I promise,” Laura sniffled and shuffled into her knees.

“Can we move to bed?” She asked. Carmilla mumbled her consent and Laura helped her stand. She walked them both over to her bed, moving the laptop with a movie title paused on the screen and pulling back the blanket.

Despite the fact that she felt like she was floating, Carmilla was able to lay down, her head sinking into the cushiony material of the yellow pillow. She reached up, fiddling with the soft fabric between her fingers. She was fixated on the smooth swish each time she moved.

“Do you remember what we talked about last time this happened?” Laura began, hands resting on Carmilla’s thigh as she stood beside the bed. Carmilla snapped out of her trance, the words registering.

“Yes,” Carmilla whispered, “We should try it.”

There wasn’t a cure or a lot of ways to help her come out of this state, so they had thought of their own plan. It hadn’t been tested yet but now was the time.

Laura nodded, climbing on the bed and maneuvering over Carmilla’s body. She crouched against the wall, hovering over her.

“I’ll ask before each motion. You can tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay.” 

Laura started at her hands. She grabbed her left palm between both, tracing patterns onto the skin there. Carmilla felt tingling again, but it wasn’t as sharp or painful. It was warm, soothing. Laura squeezed a rhythm and then held firm.

The idea was, if Carmilla could connect the touch to her body, she would become aware that it was in fact her own and would stop dissociating.

“Can you wiggled your fingers?” Laura asked. Carmilla nodded, but instead of wiggling, she strengthened her grip on Laura hand, interlocking them.

“I kinda need those,” Laura smiled, happy to see little pieces of girlfriend’s personality shining through again.

“Good thing you have two hands,” Carmilla smirked and Laura rolled her eyes, softening with fondness. She relented, continuing her ministrations with the hand not currently occupied by her girlfriend.

She touched her arms, trailing up and down in gentle lines. She peppered a few kisses there too, for good measure and increased affect. 

“Arms,” Laura said, signaling Carmilla to try and move them.

She stretched them out to the side, relieving them of the stiffness that had built up. Just as Laura was about to start on her chest and stomach, Carmilla bent forward and wrapped her arms around her, dragging her down to the bed.

Laura giggled, snuggling into the crook of her neck. Carmilla breathed in the familiar scent of Laura, which calmed her further.

“What about the strategy?”

“Modify it,” Carmilla said simply, “I need you here.”

Laura couldn’t say no to that, so she accommodated.

She slipped her hand underneath Carmilla’s shirt. She shivered at the touch, breath hitching. She scratched lightly along her abdomen, which contracted at the stimulation. At the same time, Laura began rubbing her own calves against her girlfriends.

“How is it that your hands are warm but your legs are cold?” Carmilla chuckled, not retracting from Laura’s icicle feet.

“Cold legs, warm heart,” Laura shrugged. Carmilla shook her head at her silliness but didn’t comment further.

The two of them laid there well into the night, Laura touching Carmilla and asking her to move, which she was able to do with relative ease. After that, they remained there to simply revel in each other’s presence. Eventually, Carmilla began touching her, too. Fingers skimming deviously under the neckline of her shirt, tickling her shoulder blades, kisses carving love lines into her forehead, and exhales breathing life.

Carmilla was about to fall asleep, drifting toward warm unconsciousness when Laura spoke.

“Did it work?” Laura struggled to ask through her drowsiness.

Carmilla’s eyes opened. She hadn’t remembered why they were doing this in the first place. It had felt so good that she had completely disregarded the reason. She took stock of her body, circulating through another round of checks. The nausea had subsided, her mind quiet, the veil over her eyes uncloaked.

“More than worked, cupcake.” Carmilla leaned down, capturing her lips in a short kiss. Laura exhaled, mumbling a goodnight and finally dozing off.

Carmilla was still tired, but forced herself to stay awake for a little longer.

Her body felt alive and it wasn’t uncomfortable. Her skin wasn’t crawling, begging her to release herself. She was grounded yet light, calm and present. Her limbs were attached and she was back in her body.

She had hoped that Laura’s touch would help her in this way, but she couldn’t have been sure. Now, she had no doubt that their method would be used more often for her to cope with a mechanism she didn’t need.

Laura snored softly, eliciting a small smile from Carmilla.

Her whisper danced through the darkness in a graceful sound wave.

“Goodnight, Laura.”

She could thank her girlfriend tomorrow, and the day after that, and for the rest of their lives together.


End file.
